I don’t know if I can put into words how much I adore this book. It made sense. The thought process resonated with my life. I am so glad that I am reading it in this stage on my life. It is just perfect.
This story is the epitome of life of the beat generation. A wild, free, life full of feeling and uniqueness. Of adventure and soul searching.
Quotes that I loved:
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles, exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!.
Real straight talk, about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.
And before me was the great raw bulge and bulk of my American continent; somewhere far across, gloomy, crazy, New York was throwing up it cloud of dust and grown steam. There is something brown and holy about the east; and California is white like wash lines and empty headed – at least that’s what I thought then.
Something, someone, some spirit was pursuing all of us across the desert of life and was bound to catch us before we reached heaven. Naturally, now that I look back on it, this is only death.
What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain until you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too huge world vaulting us, and it’s goodbye. But, we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
He no longer cared about anything (as before) but now he also cared about everything in principle; that is to say, it was all the same to him and he belonged to the world and there was nothing he could do about it.
Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had no longer ways to go. But, no matter, the road is life.
I realized that these were all snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking that their parents had lived smooth, welll-ordered, stabilized-within-the-photo lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, or sctual night, the hell of it, the senseless nightmare road. All of it inside endless and beginningless emptiness. Pitiful forms of ignorance.
I looked up out of the dark swirl of my mind and I knew I was on a bed eight thousand feet above sea level, on a roof of the world, and I knew that I had lived a whole life and many others in the poor atomistic husk of my flesh, and I had all the dreams.
So in America when the sun goes down, I sit on the old broken-down river watching the long, long, skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it.